12

SECOND PRE-TRIAL INTERVIEW

I felt battle fatigue after the locksmiths had left, and I still
had to go to my attorney's office. I hated the whole idea of
rehearsing the lies, or as a journalist puts it "being coached to
commit perjury before a jury", but told myself I had to go through
that anyway, that it was the last time.

Leonard Slavit told me "Now pretend it's not me asking you the
questions but another attorney". He didn't say "the defense
attorney". There followed a mockery of cross examination where he
asked me questions in a benevolent tone, as if he were a daddy or
something. He never turned a question the cross-examination way,
beginning with "Isn't it a fact that you..." in an accusatory tone,
but I played the game. He asked about my stay in the hospital and
I said that I had had two operations. "What was the second
operation for?" "It was to reposition some pins." He looked at me
in a way that made me feel uneasy.

At the end of the interview he observed that I had answered his
questions better than the first time, and congratulated me on doing
my home work. I asked him how long the trial would last, and how a
trial developed. He showed some impatience, saying that I was not
to worry about anything except what I had to say. But I insisted
that I needed to know how much time I would have to schedule, and
he said it could take one week.

GASLIGHTED

Back home I faced the problem of my missing pens. Now I had
evidence that someone had copies of my two new $100 keys. I had a
chance. The locksmiths had left Thursday around 3PM, so my check
couldn't have been cashed already.

At 9AM on Friday the 13th of August, I called my bank and
ordered to stop payment on my check. The check for the new locks
had been paid already, and I could only stop the check for the
grills.

TRYING TO GET LEGAL ADVICE

I called David Margolick, the columnist of the New York Times
whose column, "At the Bar" appears every Friday, and asked him if
he could refer me to a personal injury attorney. He gave me the
name and number of Susan Benson whom I called. After listening to
me for a while she said that she had to check with her boss to know
if the firm would be interested in taking my case.

On Saturday the 14th, she called and asked if I had had a 50-H
hearing. I didn't know what it was and she explained it to me. I
said yes, I had had a 50-H hearing. Then she explained that I had
committed perjury and she talked to me like I was a despicable
lout. I said I had said what my lawyers had told me to say but it
wasn't under oath. "But a 50-H is under oath." "I am positive that
I wasn't sworn in. If I had been put under oath I would remember
it, and I wouldn't have lied." "You must have been sworn in." I was
horrified. I had committed perjury and didn't know it until now.
But I had not made the false statements under oath, I was
absolutely sure of it. How was this possible? Now I felt dirtied by
her accusations of perjury and talked up to her from the gutter of
my crime. I asked what would happen if I recanted and she said it
would be bad for my credibility. He voice was dripping with
contempt. She said that her firm was unwilling to take on my case
because it looked too messy. "So what do you think I should do?
Drop the case?" She said that she had given me a lot of free advice
already and that she left it up to me to make a decision.

THE LANDLORD AND THE LOCKSMITH

During the following days, other proofs that someone had entered
my apartment in my absence appeared. I found a book I was currently
reading and which I left on the floor, standing on the small side
in the middle of the room.

I went to see the landlord and accused him of having copies of
my keys. He called Steve on the phone and feigned antagonism with
him by pretending to be cross that Steve had not asked his
permission before drilling holes in his wall. "But I told you I was
going to have them, and I showed you what I wanted!" I exclaimed.
He couldn't keep the argument. He said to Steve that the young lady
was not happy with his work, there seemed to be a problem. He asked
me what kind of keys they were, pretending not to know, and I
showed them to him instead of telling him that he knew perfectly
what they looked like.

On Tuesday August the 17th, Steve called to ask why I had put a
stop payment on the check. I didn't dare to accuse him straight out
of having given duplicates of my keys to my landlord, but he
started talking about the grills. I said it was not what I had
ordered. He said I had checked them at his shop. I said I had
showed Willy what I wanted and finally Steve convinced me to pay
him the amount of the check plus $15 bank fee for the stop payment.
After all the grills were okay, I had spent another $15 to have
them examined by another locksmith who said they were. I said I
would send him another check. He protested but I said "I'm not
going to put a second stop payment" and he accepted.

THE LAWYERS'TRAP

That night I was sitting on my bed, ready to go to sleep, with
all the recent events spinning in my head and making me dizzy. A
voice in my head had been trying to make itself heard for a long
time but I had not wanted to listen. In the beginning it had
sounded very distant and I had easily ignored it. I had been afraid
to listen to it because I knew it had bad news for me, but this
time the voice was pressing, insisting with desperation to be heard
above the din. Maybe that voice wanted me to warn me about
something, maybe I should listen to the bad news before it was too
late, so instead of getting into bed I remained seated, motionless,
and I listened to the voice in my head:

"Now, this is serious, a trial is not an experience that
happens frequently in a lifetime. It is very, very serious
business. You're going to be on the witness stand, there will be a
judge, twelve jurors who will scrutinize you, lawyers, doctors, and
you will have to answer questions. Until now you've been avoiding
picturing the scene in your mind's eye, the scene as your lawyers
want you to describe it because it is not part of your experience,
because it feels alien to you, because you feel no emotion about
it, like it's a foreign object, you've been parroting the lies your
lawyers told you to say without visualizing how it looks like, but
the time has come to do it. You must visualize it before you get on
the witness stand.

Now take a good look and don't avert your eyes. Now look, the
front side of the bus hits you on your left shoulder, then what?"

And to my absolute horror, I realized that only two things could
have happened:

Either I would have fallen on my right side (but then how could
I explain that it was my left knee that was injured?) or, if I had
fallen on my left side, I would have been run over by the rear
wheel of the bus, and if I had been, I would have lost my life, or
at least my legs. But either way, if I told what my lawyers had
told me to say, it was impossible to reconcile my injury with my
lawyers'version of the accident.

And then, another horror: the witness stand! I was going to lie
on the witness stand! I was going to lie under oath, to commit
perjury!

On Wednesday the 18th, Jose handed me a subpoena duces tecum
together with the mail. I was furious that he hadn't given it to me
as soon as it was served. The subpoena required me to show my
income tax returns for the years subsequent to the accident, as
well as my original passport. I knew the TA attorney had no
business asking for these documents. I felt it was part of the
scheme.

TRYING AGAIN TO GET LEGAL ADVICE

I had an appointment with attorney Michael Brookman, whose
referral I had obtained from the ABA. His offices were luxurious
and modern. A man in his thirties came to take me to a conference
room. First he asked me to write a check for $20 to the ABA and he
asked me to talk to him about my problem. Then he showed me to Mr.
Brookman's office.

Mr Brookman was sitting in a sumptuous corner office on Madison
Ave. He reminded me of a pig: fat, with small beady eyes and a very
low forehead. I explained to him that I suspected that my family
was acting behind the scene to make me lose the lawsuit and force
me to sell the estate's property. He said that if it was a problem
with my family who lived in France, then New York didn't have
jurisdiction. He treated me so coldly that I didn't feel like
giving him more explanations. The accident had happened in NYC, no?
I left without getting my money's worth.

ESTATE UPDATE

Dear Miss Picart:
Regarding your sister Brigitte's expressed desire to sell her share
of the house in Brittanny, and considering that your sisters Sophie
and Agnes want to do the same, your sister Elisabeth would agree to
receive this house as part of her settlement of the estate. etc.

It's so obvious that they do this just to prevent me from
getting my share in cash of this house. They have remodeled this
house a few years ago to make it more accomodating for large family
gatherings, this house which has been the family's vacation home
for more than twenty years, they have worked on the garden and
everything, and all of a sudden they act as if nobody likes this
house, except my sister Elisabeth who lives in Germany and wants it
for herself and her husband. Ridiculous!

DISMISSAL OF THE SLAVITS

On Friday the 20th, I faxed my attorneys that I dismissed them
and sent a copy to the TA attorney. When I returned 45 minutes
later, I found a bottle of nail polish lying near the garbage pail.
I had swept the floor in the morning and hadn't used nail polish
for two years. I called my bank and put a stop payment on the
second grill-check I had sent to Steve the day before.

MORE GASLIGHTING

On Saturday the 21st in the morning, when only Glen and Jose
were working, a music chart ("Ill Wind" of all songs) I hadn't
touched for a while was lying on top of the newspaper I had been
reading just before leaving for food shopping. None of this could
be blamed on the cat. When I found out, I went to the office and
complained forcefully that either one had entered my room while I
was out. I knew Glen felt guilty from the look he gave me when I
had returned. Later when I passed Jose I told him I was going to
press charges against him and Glen. I went to the police to report
that someone was entering my room in my absence. The woman who was
on duty behind her typewriter started asking me questions that
showed she was doubting my sincerity. "How do you know someone had
duplicates of your keys?" "Because it's the only possible
explanation." I almost started yelling and explained I was
overstressed with this situation. A female officer wrote down my
complaint without saying what she wrote. I talked about the things
being moved around my apartment. They are so obtusely
materialistic, fixated on the robbery of valuables as the only
possible motive for a break in, that they cannot fathom how someone
can be terrorized by finding herself stripped of privacy, or having
to question her sanity, and that this can be the exact object of
the break in. Since I did not complain that any valuables had
disappeared, they didn't see the point of my complaining. The
officer wrote me an incident information slip, complaint Nr. 10061.
I asked what they were going to do and she said "nothing". My
complaint would be filed away. When I went two weeks earlier to
report the disappearance of the driver's testimonies, the police
refused to write a complaint, saying that I had lost or misplaced
the papers. In vain I explained that these documents were important
papers related to a one million dollar lawsuit. I felt I was
hitting a brick wall and that they thought I was off my rocker.

On Monday August 23, I went again to speak with the landlord
about the fact that someone was entering my place when I was out
and accused him of doing it. He smiled trying to look innocent and
raised his hands, asking me to call the police, to have him finger-
printed. He said he was in this building as little as possible and
that he was staying away from it as much as possible.

BEFORE THE JUDGE

Later, Leonard Slavit called. I asked if he had received my fax.
He said he did. He was calling to remind me that the trial was
tomorrow. I said I knew and I was going. He said he was going too.
I said I would talk to the Judge myself.

I wore a dark grey linen jacket, white wide pants, a pale pink
tee shirt and my brown and white shoes. I perfumed myself with the
happy endearing Paris by Yves St Laurent. Luckily, my name was
called early. I closed my magazine and realized it was my turn to
get up and approach the Judge. L. Slavit and the TA attorney were
close behind me. "So, you're Brigitte Picart" the Judge said, and
he seemed agreeably surprised. "Yes, it's me." I let it sink in a
little. He had seen my name in this cloudy case and he must have
been wondering what kind of bird I was. "Your Honor, I am no longer
represented by Mr. Slavit" I was trying to avoid saying "I fired my
attorney". "What did you say? Speak up!" "Can I have a word in
private with you?" I asked. "OK. Please step back" he said to the
attorneys, who instantly made two steps backwards. "Your Honor, I
no longer have an attorney to represent me." "Why?" "Because I
dismissed Mr. Slavit." "Why did you dismiss him?" "Because he told
me to lie. He told me to lie about how the accident happened." "How
did it happen?" "I was not hit, I was sideswiped. I was not wearing
a helmet like he told me to say." He started to write on a card and
ordered his secretary to take the case off the calendar. "Come back
when you've found yourself another attorney." "Your Honor, you know
how difficult it is to find another attorney." "Well, that's your
problem." "Thank you, your Honor". I turned around. Slavit had a
long face. I marched out of the courtroom with my head high and a
feeling of rage, satisfaction and relief. In the street I was
elated. The feeling was wonderful. I had done the right thing, and
it felt so good!

ANOTHER LOCKSMITH

Back home, I called another locksmith to change my locks. He
changed only the cylinder. I don't remember having given him the
brand name of the lock but he showed up with the right thing. He
didn't accept payment by check, but I had the cash ($120). I spoke
to him about my misadventures and if he's not honest, I spoke way
too much about them. I told him that my landlord would not break
the door open because then it would require police intervention.

What I understand furthermore, is that he wants to keep the
explanation of an entry through the window possible, the better to
avoid the suspicion of having copies of my keys.

Steve called about the second check I had stopped and he was
fuming, telling me I had promised not to stop the check. I told him
people had entered my place since I had the new locks and that he
must have given copies of them to the landlord. He protested that
he wasn't friend at all with the landlord, that he had taken heat
for drilling the wall without his permission. I said that the
landlord knew it 24hrs in advance and had said nothing, and that
all the other ground floor windows have grills of this type. He
said that if I didn't come to pay him in cash, he would lock me out
of my apartment and it would cost me $500 to get in.

I called the police and was referred to Officer Lawson. He said
that if Steve did this he would have him arrested.

Next morning, there was a young cop at the entrance of Central
Park at 103rd Street. After having bought my newspaper, I crossed
CPW and went to talk to him. I asked him why he was there where
there was nobody, and not at the corner with Manhattan Avenue. "I'm
always there, you see me all the time, but today I'm here." I told
him I was speaking about my problems to officer Lawson and told him
about the legal papers stolen. I asked if he knew my landlord, and
he said he knew him just by name. He asked me a lot of questions.
He asked me about Carlos. I said he was holding meetings with his
associates right in front of my window. I mentioned how young the
men were, still teen agers it seemed. Since I mentioned this,
Carlos holds his meetings somewhere else. He asked me about Cuba.
I told him Cuba had been spying on me for the landlord and that I
thought he had moved to the building on Amsterdam at 95th because
I hadn't seen him for quite a while. (Since I told him he was not
my friend). He asked me if I was French and I said yes. Shortly
after I had left him, I realized that he was in fact paid by the
landlord to gather intelligence from me.

A STRANGE SCENE

Around five, as I was going out to get some beer at the bodega,
I witnessed a strange scene. It looked like a bogus arrest by
undercover cops. I had witnessed the real thing previously and this
was different. The arrested was a drug courrier who lives on the
corner of Manhattan and 103rd. He was held with his face against
the wall between the two doors at the entrance of the building and
the guy was yelling "I have no money. I tell you I have no money."
while a woman was telling him to shut the fuck up. One of the guys
was tall, slim and looked really mean. He looked at me with an
inquisitive eye, as if to check that I was fooled. He asked if
anybody had entered the building just this minute and I said yes,
but he didn't go after the guy in the stairs. When I returned from
the bodega they were still there. I don't know anything about guns,
except that the guy pulled a gun from the front of his jeans and it
was not a cop's gun. I felt the sight of the instrument of death
was obscene. But I was absorbed in writing a complaint about the
Slavits to the Lawyer's Grievance Committee and I was able to mail
it the next day, with copy to the DA's office.

The landlord called me about the stopped check. He said he had
given me a $200 share of the cost in real money deduced from the
rent, and that I paid the grills with funny money. He said Steve
would have the grills taken down if I didn't pay. I said the grills
were fine but I had a problem with the locks. I said he knew I was
not a rip-off artist but I wanted my money's worth. After all what
I had bought was privacy, and I didn't have it. As expected Steve
called later. He said I was playing games and he didn't like it.
"Why should I be playing games?" I answered, "All I'm interested in
is to have privacy. I trusted you with my privacy and you betrayed
me. You've given copies of my keys to the landlord." "Why do you
think your landlord would want to enter your apartment and eat the
food in your refrigerator?"